In Charles Smith’s “Knock Me a Kiss,” a well-bred young woman must choose between two suitors. One is a rough-talking jazz musician. The other is a respected poet who brings her flowers and promises a first-class trip to Paris.

The girl’s father, who she has always lived to please, prefers the latter—in fact, the rising writer is his protégé.

Currently running in a solid production directed by Chuck Smith at Crossroads Theatre Company, the play centers on what might be a typical coming-of-age story exploring parent-child relationships and first loves.

But “Knock Me a Kiss” is based on a true story, and the stature of its characters lends a thick coat of pressure as well as a window into a chapter of American history. (The show played the Abrons Arts Center in New York in 2010 with the same company.)

The year is 1928. Yolande’s father is NAACP co-founder and civil rights activist W.E.B. DuBois. While grooming Countee Cullen as a high society intellectual, DuBois tells the younger man to find a wife. When Yolande shows interest in Countee, a perfect power couple would seem to be made.

If they are to have a life together, it will be driven by ambition – it will advance Countee’s career and suit Yolande’s expensive tastes. As DuBois insists, it will also benefit the entire race – nevermind Yolande’s preexisting passion for the bandleader Jimmy, or Countee’s coldness towards her.

Anthony Davidson’s modest set trains the focus on DuBois’ writing desk and bookshelf and Ali Turns’ costumes convey the stylishness of the time, with lavish furs and debonair suits.

André De Shields conveys DuBois’ fervor and pride as well as an inability to perceive anything illogical. This didactic, fastidious DuBois reduces all those around him to roles within a rising social network. He refers to his spouse simply and sharply as “Wife,” and when Yolande upsets him, she too is stripped of her name to become “Daughter.”

At the show’s climax, he seems impossibly dense. But woven throughout Smith’s play is a desire for one to see the world that one wants to see.

Smith’s conception of DuBois is surely a reductive impression of a real personality, but it works in context. The script telegraphs every major event before it happens, but the action unfolds neatly and humor helps keep it engaging.

As Yolande, Erin Cherry’s performance sometimes seems artificial and prissy. But she becomes increasingly real and draws compassion as she forges her identity, learns to sift fantasy from fact, and has several emotional revelations.

Portraying Countee, Sean Phillips effectively conveys the guardedness and drive that have led to success. In the stock role of the sassy best friend (with plenty of frank sex talk) Gillian Glasco is a lively Lenora.

Marie Thomas brings pathos to Nina, Yolande’s well-meaning but disturbed mother. The task of giving a sense of the period falls largely to her. She describes segregation in Atlanta and a son who died of illness when no hospital would treat him. A speech in which she compares herself to Helen Keller, however, feels heavy-handed.

The conflict within the Harlem Renaissance also becomes pointedly clear when Yolande goes to see Jimmy at the Cotton Club. She can’t get in.

As Jimmy, Morocco Omari exudes easy charm. When his self-respect is finally tested, he appears bruised but strong—hands on hips, stone face. At the beginning of the show, he describes DuBois as having his nose so high up in the air that if it rained, he would drown. By the end, the musician turns out to be the picture of a very different kind of dignity.